And They Both Lived Happily
by Misha Tedesco
Summary: "The sunset isn't ignoring you, by the way," he tells her. She looks at him, the tiniest crease between her brows. "Isn't it?" "Absolutely not," he replies. "It's complimenting you. If I didn't know any better, I might even say that it is admiring you back." *SPOILERS* for The Husbands of River Song.


If you have not seen The Husbands of River Song, the 2015 Christmas Special, then please turn back, as there will be spoilers ahead, and this story will make little sense. If you have seen this episode, however, then read on, enjoy, and please consider reviewing. And of course, I do not own Doctor Who.

* * *

He isn't sure how long they stand looking at each other, and sometimes even looking at the towers if they can spare them a moment. All he knows is that at some point their waiter, maybe even cyborg Ramone, must have come to take their orders, because they are sitting at their table, and a half eaten plate of something he does not remember tasting is sitting before him. And just past that, far more delectable than the food in front of him in his opinion, is River. She was not wrong in supposing that he cannot tell if she looks amazing tonight. He has never had much time or sense for fashion and beauty, and this body seems to be particularly clueless. He is sure he must have offended Clara on more than one occasion with his lack of tact in this regard. But as he looks across the table at River with her unfathomable little smile and her mess of hair that refuses to be tamed even for the best table at the finest restaurant in the galaxy, he knows that she is beautiful.

"I suppose," she says suddenly with a small sigh, "that I should apologize for you having to see me… well… the way that I am when I think you aren't looking."

The Doctor quirks a skeptical eyebrow at this. "You? Apologizing for the way that you are? What's the catch?"

A sly grin graces her features. "I said I suppose that I should apologize, Doctor. I did not, however, say that I was going to."

The Doctor mulls this over for a moment. "I don't suppose I really need an apology. We've never really had conventional relationship boundaries, you and I, have we? Really, I should consider myself lucky that all you do it steal my TARDIS, commit murders, and marry other men."

River pouts dramatically, and (oh alright, he has to admit it) a bit sexily. "Now Doctor, do give credit where credit is due. I also killed you once."

"Ah," he says with a small chuckle. "So you did. Or at least you appeared to in one possible time stream. Of course it was really the Teselecta, but—"

"Don't I get an A for effort?"

"Fine then," he concedes, his face splitting into a wide grin. "A for effort. Nicely done. Very well executed attempted murder."

She laughs, as close to a giggle as River Song could produce. Her head rolls back in mirth, and he cannot help but notice the way that the golden sunset is reflecting off of her skin and hair, making her seem to glow. "The sunset isn't ignoring you, by the way," he tells her.

She looks at him, the tiniest crease between her brows. "Isn't it?"

"Absolutely not. It's complimenting you. If I didn't know any better, I might even say that it is admiring you back."

River's opens her mouth and inhales as if to formulate a retort, possibly to tell him that he is being sentimental and ridiculous. But then her eyes become a little brighter as she exhales and turns her gaze towards the setting sun, and the Doctor knows that she is wondering if she dares to believe him.

The Doctor told her when they fled from Hydroflax's cyborg body with his head in her bag that he could not approve of any of what she was doing, and it was true. He acknowledges, if he can ever be bothered to think about it, that he should really put a stop to much of what River gets up to. And yet somehow she is different. He doesn't know how, and he doesn't think that trying to figure it out would be a particularly productive exercise. All he knows is that he has always made exceptions for her, even back in the early days when he did not trust her, and he finds this a very hard habit to break.

In fact, it is of these exceptions that he is thinking when, a moment later, River grabs his hand and all but drags him from their balcony table back into the TARDIS. She had told him that she would not pass judgment on his new body until she had seen more than just the face, and she is apparently a woman of her word.

This is not quite the first time that this has happened. His previous body, for all its clumsiness and flailing limbs, had found itself up to the task on multiple occasions. It still surprises him, though, just how enjoyable he finds this all too human experience. It is frantic and desperate, and he finds himself fleetingly thinking that maybe, just maybe, when he ran from Gallifrey all those years ago, this is what he was running towards.

They reach the TARDIS faster than he would have believed possible on those pointy monstrosities that River calls shoes, and no sooner has she pulled him inside and slammed the doors does she push him against the wall, grab his shirtfront, and pull him down to kiss her.

"You know, River," he says in the brief moments that they disengage for breath, "when I told you before," she tangles her hands in his hair, "that this is not a wildly varied activity," she nips his lower lip, "I am prepared to admit that I may have been a teensy bit wrong."

She laughs at this, a breathy laugh that would make him light headed he is sure, if not for his respiratory bypass system. "Thank goodness I managed to makes you see the appeal."

She wraps her arms around his neck in order to pull him back down to her, but he dodges her embrace, spinning past her suddenly, and regarding her from a safe distance with furrowed brows (this face's trademark expression, he thinks). "Even so it isn't at all pleasant seeing your wife wrapped around a tall dark and idiotic youngster like that. Or to hear a brainless cyborg talk about their many night of passion."

She rolls her eyes at this, and walks past him to the console. She fiddles with a few buttons and levers, and he'll be damned if the lights don't dim in what is clearly the TARDIS equivalent of mood lighting. She leans her elbows on the console, her chin perched on her folded hands, a pose that could be mistaken for angelic if not for the way it causes her breasts to strain against her tight dress. He clears his throat and determinedly focuses his eyes on her face. Time Lords do not become distracted by this sort of thing.

"We've already established that I married the diamond, not Hydroflax. And if it makes you feel any better, I found Ramone to be a bit…" she pauses, as if searching for the word, but he knows she is teasing him, "inexperienced."

"Inexperienced?" the Doctor replies. "I shudder to think how you put that to the test."

River rises from her position at the console, and strides over to the wall in which the Doctor now knows she has hidden her stash of alcohol. She opens the hidden compartment and fiddles inside it for a moment, before extracting two glasses of amber liquid. She strides over to him, and he tries valiantly not to notice the way her hips are swaying. She draws close to him and hands him a glass, which he accepts in spite of himself. She leans in close and says softly, "Let's just say not everyone is as accepting of my proclivity for handcuffs as you." She leans away smirking, walks back to the console, and perches herself on the edge. "That, and you do have quite a few more years under your belt than he does, although his youth has its benefits."

The Doctor suddenly finds himself keenly away of how much older he looks than the last time River has seen him. Maybe he will do his roots after all. "What could the benefits possibly be? To the Time Lords, he's barely out of nappies."

River swirls her drink around her glass before tipping it back and swallowing its contents in one. "The enthusiasm for one thing. It's a shame really that I had to wipe our wedding from his memory. That wedding night probably would have changed his life."

An unfamiliar but not altogether unexpected burn of jealousy bubbles up in the Doctor's chest. River is sitting on the edge of the console with her legs crossed, her dress pushed up almost to her knees, defiance and challenge emanating from her every cell, human and Time Lord alike.

The Doctor stalks towards her slowly, trying to muster up all the swagger bravado that he can, while reminding himself that he is the Oncoming Storm. He walks until he is directly in front of her, reaches past her to deposit his drink next to her on the console, and places his hands on her hips. He moves his hands slowly from her hips, down her thighs, stopping at her knees. He pauses, then tightens his grip, roughly pulling her legs apart, and maneuvering them around his waist. He looks into her eyes, and he is sure that he can see something there that he cannot name. A delicious combination of anticipation, attraction, and maybe just a touch of fear for what will come next. He leans closer towards her as if to kiss her, but at the last moment he reaches for is previously disregarded drink, lifts it to his lips that are inches from hers, and throws it back in one go. Except… "River," he says with a little growl in his voice.

"Yes, my love?" She asks in mock innocence, batting her lashes.

"This is apple juice."

"Ah," she says, caught. "And so it is. You know I was only trying to be considerate. Your last body couldn't even tolerate wine, let alone liquor."

"River!" he says with frustration, backing away slightly, though not enough for her legs to fall from his middle. I am thousands of years old! Maybe billions, I've lost track. Here I am, trying to be all… sexy, because that is apparently what you want, and apple juice is not sexy!" He crosses his arms, and his lower lip juts out slightly in a way that he will certainly never own up to.

River brings a hand up to his lips to trace his frown. "Darling, pouting isn't sexy either, especially while you have my legs wrapped around you. A girl could feel unwanted."

She's smirking at him as she says this, but something about her comment makes him feel decidedly disconcerted. Only a few hours ago (or some hundreds of years ago if you count the time travel) she declared to Hydroflax that he, the Doctor, did not love her, and never had. She declared that the Doctor does not go around falling in love with people, which is, he reflects, generally true. He supposes that this is another example of one of his exceptions where River is concerned, because somewhere between his tenth and twelfth face, his initial horror, fear and unwillingness to consider what River might one day become to him shifted, and morphed into… Well, she was certainly wanted. And really, what is to be gained by denying it? He knows that he is, that he has been for quite some time now, very much in love with River.

"Doctor?" He has been silent too long, he realizes.

"I'm sorry," he tells her quietly. "I know you don't like it when men think."

She licks her lips, and his eyes are drawn there. "Let's don't then." She tightens the hold of her legs around his waist, and he is drawn closer to her. He leans down over her until she is lying down on the console with him looming over her. It is a miracle that with all the buttons that she is pressed up against that they aren't accidentally setting the coordinates to god knows what planet in god knows what galaxy under god knows what evil alien threat. And god help him, he simply does not care.

And before either of them knows it, they are clinging onto each other like their lives depend upon it (and knowing the intricacies of their time line, the Doctor thinks that they probably do). And despite the little Time Lord voice in the back of his head telling him that this activity is not a biological imperative for his race, that this is a wholly human pastime not meant for greater beings, he simply cannot believe it, because River's hair is wilder than ever, and there must be a section of the Shadow Proclamation that would condemn her dress for daring to cover up those curves, and if this is not a biological imperative, then surely it is imperative for his soul.

He remembers earlier in the night as they were running for their lives (merely their version of foreplay) that he told her not to hold his hand, because people do not do that to him. He remembers this as they lie down next to each other, both of them panting slightly, respiratory bypass systems be damned. He remembers this when she cuddles up next to him in his bed (yes, he does have a bed, however little he uses it). He remembers this as she places lazy kisses on his face and neck and over his hearts. These are all things that people do not do to him, and yet as he places his arm around her and presses a sleepy kiss into her hair, he realizes that these are not things that people do to River either. Yes, each of them may have enough spouses to rival Henry VIII, and yes he has known from the very beginning how this tale must end, but these moments are theirs.

Just this once in his impossibly long life, the Doctor is content to know that even if they cannot live happily ever after, they can live happily.


End file.
